


Ignorant Armies

by thebirdroads



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Multi, rated m to be safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22890724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebirdroads/pseuds/thebirdroads
Summary: In another universe, Solon is prevented from killing Kronya, and Fodlan is forever changed.With the clouds of war still looming, the students of Garreg Mach must put aside their differences and unite in the face of the greatest threat Fodlan has ever known, or risk losing everything.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Annette Fantine Dominic/Lysithea von Ordelia, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Marianne von Edmund/Leonie Pinelli, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 85





	1. Day I Die

**Author's Note:**

> Been thinking about how to wrangle an "all three lords cooperate and fix Fodlan's problems together" AU ever since the game came out, and I think I've got some ideas now. Stay tuned! 
> 
> "Ah, love, let us be true  
> To one another! for the world, which seems  
> To lie before us like a land of dreams,  
> So various, so beautiful, so new,  
> Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,  
> Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;  
> And we are here as on a darkling plain  
> Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,  
> Where ignorant armies clash by night." -excerpt from Dover Beach, by Matthew Arnold

She didn’t see the root until it was too late. Years of training kicked in and she managed to turn what could have been an undignified sprawl into a passable somersault, landing on her feet, a dagger in her hand, staring down that damned mercenary. She had...somehow, against all odds, been defeated by this...this surface dwelling trash! She was Thales’ chosen! She alone had passed through the ordeals of her childhood and emerged victorious! How was it possible she had lost?

“But how? How could I really lose...to a lowly creature like you?” 

Wordlessly, Byleth advanced, raising her sword. Kronya prepared to lunge, when she heard the telltale sound of Solon warping in behind her. 

“Solon! Don’t just stand there and stare! I need your help!”

Solon’s mouth quirked in what she knew was his approximation of a smile.

“Yes, you most certainly do.”

He approached her, and she saw that his hand was raised. She’d seen what that hand was capable of doing to prisoners; what it had done to that Monica girl. She stepped back, Byleth temporarily forgotten.

As she did so, an arrow sailed over her shoulder and buried itself in Solon’s face, just below his eye. Kronya whipped her head around to see Jeralt’s orange haired protege standing at the treeline, an expression of rage on her face as Solon fell onto his back with a thump. Before Kronya could react, Byleth smashed the hilt of the Sword of the Creator into her nose, filling Kronya’s vision with a flash and a rush of burning pain. A second strike knocked her into oblivion. 

\---

Claude, Lorenz, and Raphael caught up to Byleth and Leonie, standing over Solon and Kronya. Solon was clearly dead, his unpierced eye staring blankly at the overcast sky, but Kronya was still breathing, albeit raggedly. Claude nudged her with the toe of his boot.

“So, Teach, mind cluing us in on the plan here?”

Byleth stared down at Kronya with her usual vacant gaze. 

“I’m...not sure.” 

Leonie spat on the ground.

“Much as I’d love to kill her, shouldn’t we bring her back to the monastery to stand trial?”

Byleth nodded.

“I agree.”

Lorenz scoffed.

“Professor, far be it from me to question your judgment, but-”

Byleth looked at him.

“So don’t question it, Lorenz.”

The words died in Lorenz’s mouth as Byleth roughly turned Kronya over and began to bind her wrists and ankles. 

“Raphael, would you mind carrying her back? You’re the strongest of us.”

“Oh, uh, sure thing, Professor.”

Without so much as a grunt, Raphael heaved the unconscious assassin over his shoulders, and jogged off to the rest of the Golden Deer, just now emerging from the forest. With a scoff, Lorenz followed. Claude and Leonie remained by Byleth, as she stared at Solon’s corpse.

Leonie patted her on the shoulder.

“I think Jeralt would be proud of us, professor.”

Byleth made a noncommittal noise. With a flash, she swung the Sword of the Creator, severing Solon’s head from his shoulders.

“Just thought I should make sure.”

Without another word, she strode off after Lorenz, Claude and Leonie on her heels. 

Behind them, a fly landed on Solon’s open eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been thinking about how to wrangle an "all three lords cooperate and fix Fodlan's problems together" AU ever since the game came out, and I think I've got some ideas now. Stay tuned!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwZvip416NU


	2. The Queen's Rebuke

Sylvain barely got his spear up in time for it to deflect Felix’s blow, the impact of the training sword sending a jolt down Sylvain’s arm.

“If you’re not gonna take this seriously, Sylvain-”

“Hey, hey, I’m taking it seriously! We both know you’re faster than me, Felix! Besides, you-”

Sylvain abruptly tried to sweep Felix’s legs with his spear, but Felix hopped over the blow and struck Sylvain in the ribs, hard, then followed up with a kick to the back of Sylvain’s knee, driving him into the dirt. The training sword was pressed against his chin before Sylvain could process what had happened. He held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright. You got me.”

Felix scoffed and rolled his eyes, reaching down to help Sylvain to his feet.

“Honestly, Sylvain, if that had been a real battle I’d have killed you a dozen times over.”

“Lucky for me it wasn’t then, huh?”

Felix scoffed again and the duo went to the bench where they had left their uniform jackets, where Ingrid had been spectating with Dimitri. The two blondes stood, preparing for their own bout.

“Well done, you two!” Dimitri said with a smile. “I was particularly proud of that leg sweep, Sylvain, even though it didn’t connect.”

“You hear that, Sylvain? You’ve amused the boar.”

Ingrid rolled her shoulders. “If you boys are quite finished, I think I’d like to show Dimitri a thing or two.”

“Ooh, saucy!”

Ingrid punched Sylvain in the arm, hard enough to make him wince and rub it as he sat with Felix on the bench.

“So,” he said, as Dimitri and Ingrid clashed. “I heard Byleth took her class out to go avenge her dad’s murder.”

Felix’s head whipped around.

“What? When? I thought that Monica or...whatever her name really was had escaped!” 

Sylvain shrugged, an infuriatingly casual motion. “I’ve got a lady friend who squires for one of the knights. She informed me that the knights are being held back to allow Byleth and the Deer to go after Monica, so she doesn’t get spooked and dart back into the shadows.”

Felix stared ahead, his expression unreadable.

“I see.” 

At that moment, they heard the telltale splintering crack that meant Dimitri had once again pulverized his training lance. Without hesitation, Ingrid took advantage of his distraction to deliver a series of strikes to the torso, driving him to his knees.

Sylvain whooped!

“That’s our girl!”

Felix applauded politely, trying not to smirk at Dimitri’s defeat. Then he stood, ready to challenge the winner.

After they had all fought each other at least once, they gathered their things and departed the training hall, ready to return to the dorms. As they did so, however, they saw Seteth hurrying down the hallway flanked by a couple monastery guards. 

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” joked Sylvain.

Seteth looked confused. “Fire? There’s no-oh, I see. Very humorous, Sylvain. The Golden Deer have returned from their mission, and I am hurrying to meet with them. I believe the Archbishop is already waiting at the gate. Now, if you will excuse me.” 

“Doesn’t the professor usually do her debriefings with you and the Archbishop in private, not at the gate?”

“There are...extenuating circumstances. Please excuse me.”

With that, Seteth nodded at the four and continued on. Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain all exchanged a look, and then pointedly looked at Felix. He rolled his eyes. 

“Obviously I’m curious too, let’s go.”

The foursome ran off after Seteth, their footsteps echoing down the hallway.

\---

“There, there, my beauty. We’re almost done.” Ferdinand stroked Dorte’s muzzle, eliciting a snort.

Dorothea smirked, peering out from behind Dorte. “I hope you’re talking to the horse and not me, Ferdie.”

Ferdinand laughed.

“You have the right of it. I know better than to insinuate you are ANYONE’S beauty, much less mine.”

“Good. I see you’re not completely hopeless after all.”

“Let me just finish and...done!” With a flourish that made Dorothea roll her eyes, Ferdinand finished brushing out the tangles in Dorte’s mane, and tossed the brush into the receptacle on the side of the stall. 

Dorothea applauded, though the sarcasm in the gesture was, as always, utterly lost on Ferdinand. “Well, Ferdie, now that we’ve given Dorte a thorough makeover, shall we report to Manuela?”

“I don’t see why not!”

The two led Dorte back to her stable and headed towards the monastery entrance. In a stroke of luck, Manuela , along with Seteth and Archbishop Rhea, was already hurrying down the stairs to the main gate when they arrived. Dorothea noticed the so called "Faerghus Four" from the Blue Lions lingering in the doorway.

Ferdinand waved. 

“Professor Manuela! The…” he trailed off, noticing the look of concern on Manuela’s face, as well as the serious looks on Seteth and Rhea’s. Dorothea filled the silence.

“Professor? Archbishop? What’s wrong?”

Manuela waved a hand.

“Oh, nothing earth shattering, you two. Byleth and her class have returned, and it sounds like they have some...unexpected guests with them. I’m on hand to provide any healing that may be needed.”

Rhea nodded.

“That is correct. I have asked Professor Manuela and Seteth to accompany me, as I believe Professor Byleth’s prisoner may be of special interest.”

Ferdinand and Dorothea exchanged a look at the word “prisoner” , and Manuela sighed, continuing on towards the gate.

“I’ve taught this class long enough to know that ordering you to go back to the classroom is futile, so just...tag along if you must, if the Archbishop approves?”

Rhea nodded solemnly, the tassels on her headdress swaying. 

“They are your students, so if you’re certain this will not interfere with their studies, I have no objection.”

Seteth cleared his throat.

“Yes, yes, that’s all very well and good. Shall we proceed?”

The five continued to the gate, and Seteth gave the order for it to open. As the portcullis raised and the gate creaked inward, the crowd from the marketplace coming over to gawk, Byleth and the Golden Deer entered, followed by several of the Knights of Seiros. Byleth was leading Kronya, gagged, on a length of chain that looped around a pair of shackles clasped around her wrists, and the knights had a bunch of strange men and women in all black, gagged as well, shackled together as well. Byleth yanked Kronya’s chain and the girl staggered forward and fell to her knees, eliciting laughter from the knights. Byleth smirked. 

“We got her, Archbishop.”

Rhea cocked her head. 

“Interesting. I don’t recall requesting her capture, but I suppose she’ll have valuable intel.”

Leonie piped up. 

“Plus, Archbishop, it seems that holding a public trial for Jeralt’s killer would help bring the monastery some closure. If you don’t mind me saying.”

A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, which slowly began to build into shouts of anger and dismay. A man stepped forward and threw a stone at Kronya, striking her right above the left eye, causing blood to well and trickle down her face. Kronya remained silent. Before the crowd could hurl any more abuse, verbal or otherwise, Rhea raised a hand for silence. 

“That’s quite enough. Young Leonie is quite right. A public trial is just the thing for the murderer of our beloved Jeralt. Who are these others?”

Claude spoke. 

“Well, once Teach here knocked Kronya out, a lot of her other soldiers decided to surrender. We weren’t really sure what to do with them, so we brought them back here.”

“Thank you, Claude. Professor Byleth, can I ask you to entrust Kronya to the knights, so that she can be placed in a cell to await trial?”

Byleth shrugged, and handed the chain to one of the knights, aiming a kick at Kronya’s midsection as she did so. Leonie laughed and spit on the ground. 

Rhea smiled. “Thank you. Your students must be quite exhausted, so if you could escort them back to the dormitory, I’m sure they would greatly appreciate it. Afterwards, please come to meet me and Seteth for a personal debriefing.”

Byleth nodded and, gesturing for her students to follow her, made her way to the dorms. Manuela took that opportunity to take Dorothea and Ferdinand back as well. Rhea turned to the knight leading Kronya. 

“Throw her in a cell, the more uncomfortable the better.” 

The knight saluted and set off, Kronya stumbling behind.

“As for the rest of you,” Rhea said, looking over the other prisoners. “It would be inappropriate to spill your blood here, after you have surrendered yourselves to us.” The prisoners visibly sagged in relief.

“Throw them from the cathedral bridge,” she said, lips curling into a smile, prompting the crowd to resume their bloodthirsty cheering.

Ignoring their muffled screams of fear and protest, Rhea and Seteth set off for the bridge, the knights following, dragging the prisoners behind them. From the doorway where he had been watching, Claude suppressed a shudder. Rhea could be surprisingly brutal when she put her mind to it, he supposed. With a shrug, he ran to catch up with the rest of his class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off to the races!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScNUgpTLWHQ


	3. Little Dark Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long, folks, and sorry that it's so short! Shit's been crazy, and I just needed to get this one out.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETEg-SB01QY

“You don’t have to come with me, Claude.”

“Maybe not, but you can’t fault me for wanting to offer some emotional support to one of my classmates, can you?”

Leonie rolled her eyes but said nothing. Arguing with Claude was, more often than not, like arguing with a particularly smug brick wall. Plus, as much as she pretended otherwise, she didn’t really want to do this alone. 

The dungeons of Garreg Mach were expansive, though rarely used. At any given moment, Leonie reckoned, no more than a handful of the dozens of cells were in use, owing partly to the general lack of bandits in the area, as well as the Archbishop’s general policy of summary execution of any bandits captured in battle. 

This, however, was a special case.

Leonie wasn’t even supposed to be down here, really, but the guard had taken one look at her and Claude and unlocked the door to the cell.

“The captain was a good man, lass. It’s a real shame what happened. I won’t stop you if you want to, you know…” The guard gestured cut across his throat with a finger and made a gagging sound.  
Leonie shook her head.

“Not why I’m here, but I’ll admit the offer is tempting.”

The guard nodded, and opened the door, allowing Leonie to step through into the darkness beyond.

It took Leonie’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, and when they did she almost wished they hadn’t. The room was a circular chamber with smooth stone walls, and an equally smooth floor, which, Leonie noticed, had a grate in the center leading down. The walls and floor had once been plain stone, but throughout the years they had accumulated a pattern of discoloration and various dark stains. Hung from the ceiling above the grate in the floor was Kronya, dangling by her wrists from a chain. Her normal attire had been replaced by filthy rags, and her hair hung down over her face. Claude wrinkled his nose.

“Well, there’s that famous Garreg Mach hospitality.”

Leonie glared at him, and he raised his hands in defense.

“Hey, I’m not saying she’s not awful. Teach’s dad was a good man, and I know how much he meant to you. It’s just...kinda shocking to see her like this, I guess.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Kronya whispered, her voice a dull rasp. 

Leonie inhaled sharply. All the thoughts of what she would say to Kronya, to Captain Jeralt’s murderer, flew out the window, replaced by a white hot rage. Before she could speak, however, Claude cut in. 

“So, you’re awake. Kronya, was it?”

Kronya raised her head and Leonie gasped, as Claude took an involuntary step backward. Where Kronya’s right eye had been, there was instead a horrible patch of blackened and burnt flesh around a ruined eye socket. Her remaining eye burned with disdain, and a thin trickle of dried blood ran down from her nose, and slid around her busted lip. 

“Wow.” Leonie whistled, trying to mask her initial shock. “You look like shit.”

“Seems the Archbishop didn’t take kindly to me killing one of her favorite pets.”

Leonie started forward, but Claude put out an arm to hold her back.

“Easy, Leonie. Don’t let her get to you.”

Kronya laughed, a low, hoarse sound that made a stark contrast with her earlier fiendish cackle.

“Aw, you’re no fun. Claude, was it?”

Claude lowered his arm and Leonie remained where she was, glowering.

“That’s right. You reacted pretty nastily to being called Monica, so I take it Kronya’s your preference?”

Kronya’s grin faded into a scowl.

“What’s it matter to you?”

Claude shrugged.

“Just asking.”

“Wait a minute, I know you!” said Kronya, lips parting in a manic grin at Leonie.

“You were that dude’s special student, weren’t you! Oh, I bet he never thought you’d be there when he died, failing to save him!”

Before Claude could react, Leonie surged forward and clamped both hands around Kronya’s neck. 

“Whoa, Leonie, stop!” 

Leonie either ignored him or was too furious to hear, her teeth bared in a snarl as she squeezed.

“I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll fucking kill you, do you hear me!? You’re dead!”

Claude grabbed Leonie from behind and started trying to pull her off of Kronya.

“Leonie, come on! This isn’t like you!”

“Shut up, Claude!! Shut up, I’ll kill her! I’ll fucking-”

Claude sighed and delivered a chop to Leonie’s elbow, forcing her grip to slack just enough for him to finish prying her away. Kronya dangled from the chains, making a horrible gasping noise. The door flew open and the guards ran in to see the commotion as Claude wrestled to keep a hold on Leonie.

“Get a medic in here, the prisoner got hurt a bit more than you were already intending,” Claude said, not trying to keep the venom from his voice. The guards nodded and one of them fled the room to fetch a healer, while the other checked to see if Claude and Leonie were alright. By this point Leonie had stopped thrashing, and Claude felt that it was safe to let her go. She slumped forward, and seemed about to topple over before Claude caught her, steadying her balance.

“You wanna get out of here, Leonie?”

She nodded, wordlessly, and the two walked out of the dungeons, passing by the other guard, who was himself tailed by a priest. 

After a short walk, the two found themselves an unoccupied bench in one of the monastery’s numerous gardens, and they sat there for a moment, in silence.

Claude was the first to speak.

“You doing ok, Leonie?”

For a moment, Leonie was silent, simply staring at her hands, flexing them in her lap.

“No, Claude, I don’t think I am.”

“Do you wanna talk about what happened back there?”

She exhaled softly.

“I lost my mind, is what happened, Claude. I’m sorry, I-”

“Hey,” said Claude, gently, placing a hand atop hers. “Listen. It would take the willpower of a saint to have kept a cool head in there. I know how important Teach’s dad was to you.”

Leonie looked up at him.

“I’m just...it’s not fair. It’s not fair that Captain Jeralt died like that. Stabbed in the back by some...some awful girl. It should have been in open battle or, fuck, in his bed, of old age. Not that. It’s not right. I hate her but she’s right. It’s my fault. I wasn’t fast enough to save-” Her voice broke on the last few words, and Claude wordlessly pulled her in for a hug.

“Hey now. I won’t have you blaming yourself for this, and I don’t think Captain Jeralt would have stood for it either. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but Kronya’s, Leonie.”

She sniffled. “Thanks, Claude.”

For a moment, they sat there embracing, the birdsong of the garden making a strange accompaniment to Leonie’s quiet sobs.


	4. Thunderstruck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VcByktP-mdE

“So, what’s this about Byleth capturing all of Captain Jeralt’s killers singlehandedly?” asked Caspar over the clatter of the dining hall, and around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“Caspar, by the goddess, can you please not talk with your mouth full?” groaned Dorothea, exasperated. 

“Oh, sure, sorry,” said Caspar, hurriedly chewing and swallowing. “But seriously, though.”

Edelgard exhaled through her nose, which Dorothea knew was a sign she was irritated.

“No, Caspar, I doubt that Professor Byleth singlehandedly defeated a small army by herself. Let’s not forget that the Golden Deer were present as well.”

Ferdinand chimed up from his spot to Caspar’s left. “Indeed! Capable combatants one and all. Even Hilda, when she deigns to exert herself.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes at the mention of Hilda. “She’s capable of exertion? That’s news to me, Ferdie.” 

Ferdinand laughed, and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, some claim to have seen it.”

“I am not meaning to be a bother, but what does ‘deigns’ mean?”

“It’s not a bother at all, Petra!” said Ferdinand. “It means, how to put it...if someone decides to do something that they might consider beneath them.”

“Ah! It would be like you coming to class without styling your hair in the morning! Thank you for explaining.”

“Well...I suppose so, yes,” mumbled Ferdinand, a blush creeping into his cheeks as Dorothea shrieked with laughter. 

At that moment, Hubert approached the table and whispered into Edelgard’s ear, causing her to set down her cutlery.

“I enjoyed eating with you all, but Hubert has reminded me of some prior obligations I must attend to. We should do this again sometime.”

“Oh, you know I wouldn’t let you get away with never doing this again, Edie. Though we’ll have to get Hubie, Lin, and Bernie to join us next time.” 

The rest of them bid their farewells, and Edelgard strode from the dining hall, Hubert close behind. By this point, Dorothea knew Edelgard well enough to know when something was bothering her, and tonight was no exception. However, Dorothea also knew that Hubert was equally as attentive, and that often all Edelgard needed was to discuss things with him. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by one of the kitchen servants approaching the table with a serving bowl full of mashed potatoes.

“Any more potatoes over here?”

“That would be most wonderful,” said Petra, at the same time as Caspar hooted his approval. As the servant, an old woman with kind eyes, doled out the potatoes, she looked towards the door that Edelgard and Hubert had just left through.

“The princess always seems so troubled these days.”

Dorothea made a small noise of agreement. “I wish she’d open up more to the rest of us, truth be told.”

Petra shrugged. 

“If she is a private person, there is no point in being prying. She will confide in us eventually, or she won’t.” With that bit of wisdom, she tucked into her second helping of potatoes. 

“It is our duty as her classmates and, in my case, future Prime Minister to see to it that she not bear any burdens on her own!” said Ferdinand, pounding his fist into his palm for emphasis.

“Yeah!” yelled Caspar around a turkey leg he was gnawing at feverishly. 

“Caspar! No talking while eating!” 

“Sorry, Dorothea.”

\---

“As expedient a solution it would be, Hubert, we can’t just kill her. We can ill afford the extra scrutiny her death in custody would invite.”

“I suppose. But she’s a loose end that needs tying.”

Edelgard sighed. She knew that of course Hubert was right, but it didn’t lessen the risk of discovery, of all their hard work coming to naught. 

“I have a compromise, Hubert.”

“Oh?”

“Put a few of the monastery guards loyal to our cause on the rotation to guard her cell, ideally one per shift. They can keep us informed of any information she divulges, as well as provide a more permanent solution if warranted.”

Hubert inclined his head in a small bow. 

“I will make the arrangements at once, Lady Edelgard.”

“Thank you, Hubert. And please, you don’t have to be so formal when we’re alone, you know that.”

Hubert chuckled mirthlessly. 

“Of course.”

Without another word, he left Edelgard’s room, closing the door behind him, and she turned back to the notes on her desk. Regardless of what happened with Kronya, she had studying to do. 

\---

Shamir rolled her eyes. 

“This isn’t a two person job, Catherine.”

Catherine grinned. 

“Well, figured it’d be nice to tag along anyway. Plus,” she said, gesturing to the tray of food from the cafeteria in her hands, “two guards means two trays of food, and it’s not like you can carry both at once.”

“I could absolutely do that,” huffed Shamir, indignant. “But, either way, you had the right idea saying we should bring them dinner. They can hardly guard that woman on an empty stomach, and the guard rotation isn’t for another half hour.”

Catherine scowled, and Shamir noticed her grip on her tray tighten. 

“Frankly if it were up to me I’d gut the freak right here, right now.”

“What, and risk Rhea’s wrath?”

“LADY Rhea. And I think I could put up with her being cross for a while if it meant I could get revenge for Jeralt. We never always saw eye to eye, but he deserved a better end than that.”

Shamir, who had seen enough violent ends to know that there was hardly one any better than the other, kept silent. 

Catherine shook her head to clear her thoughts. 

“Well, anyway, I-”

The two rounded the corner, and saw the guards lying on the floor in a pool of blood, with an assassin picking the lock to Kronya’s cell. 

Immediately, Shamir hurled the tray of food she was carrying at the assassin, as Catherine’s dropped to the floor, her hands reaching for Thunderbrand. The assassin turned, face concealed beneath a beaklike mask, and his lockpick clattered to the floor as he sprung directly at them. Cursing herself for leaving her bow in her quarters, Shamir parried the assassin’s first slash with her own knife as Catherine’s fist shot out, connecting with the beak of the assassin’s mask, twisting it around his head. In an instant, Shamir had the assassin pinned to the floor while Catherine rushed to check on the guards. Catherine cursed as she realized the guards were well beyond saving. “They’re dead, Shamir.” Shamir nodded and applied pressure to the assassin’s elbows in a way designed to maximize discomfort.

“Why are you here?” hissed Shamir.

The assassin remained silent, so Shamir dislocated his right elbow. That seemed to break his silence.

“Answer my questions or you’ll find out how many of your joints I can pop.”

“Ngh, fine,” the assassin muttered, voice slightly muffled by his mask, still wrenched sideways. “Supposed to kill that filthy fucking half breed you’ve got in that cage.”

“What!?” shouted Catherine, rounding on the assassin, who continued speaking as though she hadn’t made a sound.

“We all knew her bloodline was hopelessly diluted, but to allow herself to be taken alive, well, that shocked even us.”

“Who?” asked Shamir, a lethal edge creeping into her voice. “Who sent you? What bloodline?”

The assassin chuckled. 

“You’ll never know.”

The assassin fell silent for a moment, and then began to spasm, making awful choking and gurgling noises. In a flash, Shamir had wrenched his mask off in a futile attempt to avert what she knew was already well underway. Sure enough, the assassin’s eyes were rolled back into his head, and a mass of pink and red flecked foam dribbled from his mouth as the poison pill he had swallowed took lethal effect. With a final jerk, he fell still, a final death rattle hissing from his lungs. Shamir cursed and half sat, half collapsed onto the floor beside the corpse. Catherine sat down next to her. 

“Shit, Shamir, that’s...damn.”

“Eloquently put, Catherine. Fuck.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

The two knew that they would need to fetch someone and inform them what had happened, but for the moment they sat there, contemplating the assassin’s face, as deathly pale as his snow white hair.


	5. Cataracts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNp24XznD4Q

Mercedes set her tea cup down on the saucer on her nightstand with a gentle clink, and turned her attention to her notes once more.

“Ok, next is...Lysithea, why don’t you answer one?”

Lysithea, from her spot next to Annette on the floor of Mercedes’ bedroom, nodded sharply.

“I’m ready.”

“Ok. What year did the Crescent Moon war end?”

“Oh, that’s easy! 901! You’re not going easy on me, are you?”

Mercedes chuckled. 

“I know better than to do that, Lysithea. Who’s next?”

“Felix has hardly answered any,” grumbled Annette. 

“Alright then,” said Felix. “Ask me one, Mercedes. And don’t go easy on me, either.”

“Okay, Felix,” said Mercedes. “When was the Southern Church’s insurrection?”

Felix scoffed.

“Easy, 1056.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, it was 1065.”

Felix frowned as Lysithea and Annette broke out in giggles. 

“Oh, should she go easier on you, Felix?” cackled Lysithea.

“Hmph. Whatever,” said Felix, crossing his arms.

“Be nice, Lysithea,” said Mercedes, before turning to Annette.

“Okay, Annie-”

There was a knock at the door. 

“Come in!” said Mercedes, and the door swung open, revealing Leonie, with Marianne half standing, half hiding behind her.

“Sorry we’re late, guys! Had a little situation at the stables,” Leonie said, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. 

“Oh no! Are the horses all okay?” asked Annette.

Marianne nodded. 

“Leonie was very helpful…” 

Leonie blushed.

“Aw, it was nothing. Anyway, if it’s not too late we’re here to join your guys’ study session!” she said, changing the subject. 

“Not at all,” said Mercedes with a smile. “Would you like some tea?”

“No thanks,” said Leonie at the same time that Marianne said “Yes, please.”

As Mercedes filled Marianne’s cup, Leonie sat down next to her. 

“Hopefully Shamir has some tea ready, huh, Marianne?”

Marianne giggled.

“Oh, stop, that’s mean.”

Felix raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s this about Shamir?”

Leonie waved a hand dismissively. 

“When we were coming up here from the stables we ran into Shamir, who was heading to Manuela’s room, and Manuela usually needs some pretty serious sobering up at this time of night.”

“Ah.”

Mercedes cleared her throat.

“If you’re quite done gossipping, shall we continue studying?”

Leonie nodded.

“Let’s go!”

\---

Shamir hammered on the door again.

“Manuela! I know you’re in there, don’t make me break this door down.”

Shamir heard something falling over on the other side of the door, a muttered curse, and finally Manuela’s voice. 

“Just-just give me a fucking second, alright?”

After a few more moments, during which Shamir could hear Manuela fumbling with the locks on her door, it swung open, revealing Manuela, a bottle of some unidentified spirit clutched loosely in her hand as she leaned against the doorframe for balance. Her hair was a mess, but Shamir had known her long enough to know that she was capable of getting a great deal more drunk before calling it quits.

“What do you want, Shamir?”

“There’s a body we need you to look at. Catherine went to fetch the Archbishop.”

As expected, that seemed to sober Manuela up a bit.

“A body? It’s not-”

“It’s not one of the students, or anyone from the monastery, as far as we can tell.”

“Thank the goddess. Where is the body?” 

“Already moved it to the infirmary. I can explain more on the way, Catherine and the Archbishop might already be waiting there.”

Manuela set the bottle down on a table by the door, the liquid inside sloshing, and ran a hand through her hair to smooth out the worst of the mess.

“Lead the way, Shamir.”

\--

The lantern suspended from the ceiling above the table in the infirmary had been enchanted to produce a steady, white light, which both illuminated the room and deepened the shadows that remained. Laid out on the table was the corpse of the assassin Catherine and Shamir had fought, stripped of his armor, with a sheet draped over the lower half of his body at Manuela’s insistence. Manuela, Rhea, Seteth, and Catherine were gathered around the corpse, while Shamir leaned in the doorway, looking on. It was the first time Shamir had seen the Archbishop outside of her formal regalia, instead wearing a simple white robe, her hair unencumbered by her headdress. Seteth, conversely, was still in his usual outfit. Rhea’s eyes studied the corpse with an intensity Shamir found unsettling, before she raised them to meet Catherine’s.

“And you’re quite sure he was attempting to assassinate the prisoner?”

“Sure as the sky is blue, Lady Rhea. He told us as much himself before he, you know,” Catherine responded, gesturing to the dried blood and spittle clinging to the corpse’s lips.

"Has the prisoner been told?"

Catherine grinned. "Yeah, figured I'd give her a good scare. Let's see her stew in it for a while."

Rhea nodded, then addressed Manuela.

“What killed him?”

Manuela sighed.

“I couldn’t say for sure without running some tests, but judging by the discoloration in the face, as well as the symptoms Catherine and Shamir described, I would guess the Ailell Orchid or a similar poison.”

“Ailell Orchid?” asked Seteth.

Manuela nodded. 

“It’s the common name for an orchid that grew predominantly in Ailell prior to the calamity, though small populations elsewhere do exist, predominantly in the cloud forests of the Kupala region. When ingested, the seeds are incredibly toxic, more so if their oil is distilled. Death is...painful, but swift.” 

Rhea examined the corpse for a moment, before she spoke.

“We’ll have to move the prisoner’s trial and execution up.”

Seteth’s nostrils flared, but he remained otherwise impassive.

“Are you quite sure that’s wise, Archbishop?”

“It makes sense,” said Shamir. “When this guy’s employers don’t hear from him, they’re gonna assume he failed, and they’ll keep sending assassins until the prisoner’s dead.”

Catherine scoffed. 

“I don’t see why we should care if she dies. Why bother protecting her?”

“If you hadn’t noticed, Catherine,” said Manuela acidly, “the prisoner lives, and the two men in charge of guarding her are dead. I don’t consider that an acceptable outcome, do you?”

Catherine blushed and looked down at her feet.

“You’re right, Manuela. Sorry.”

Seteth cleared his throat.

“I suppose that’s a sensible course of action. The sooner we get this dreadful business over with the better.”

Rhea nodded.

“Seteth, do you think you could manage finishing preparations in time to have the trial by the end of the week?”

“I believe so.”

“Then make it so.”

Manuela cleared her throat.

“Yes, well, I’m glad we’ve got this all sorted out. Am I still needed here?”

Rhea started, as if she had forgotten Manuela was there.

“Oh, forgive me, Manuela. You’re dismissed. Thank you for your assistance in this matter. Catherine and Shamir will dispose of the body.”

“We will?” grumbled Shamir, earning her a glare and a shush from Catherine. 

“No, no, that’s alright,” said Manuela. “I’m not so eager to get out of here that I can’t dispose of a corpse.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” said Seteth. 

Manuela indicated that she was, and the other four left the infirmary, leaving her alone with the corpse.

“You look so young...what was a kid like you doing as an assassin?” she asked the corpse.

With a sigh, she closed the still open eyes of the corpse and began the preparations for burial. Assassin or not, Manuela was going to give him the proper rites. Drinking herself into oblivion could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back, folks! The study session really didn't have much to do with the rest of the chapter, but a nice levity break between last chapter and the autopsy seemed warranted.


	6. Heel Turn 2

_The rolling thunderclouds above offer a stark contrast to the towers glittering silently on the horizon, and she feels her lip curl in a sneer. They shall remember their place after this. The moon shines down through a gap in the clouds as she raises a hand above her head, and feels the power course through her body. Before her stands the enemy army, mounting a final defense against her own soldiers, spread out across the plains behind her. She feels the spell complete, and throws her hand forward towards the towers. For a moment, the air is still. Then, a great roar as the heavens themselves split asunder, great columns of light piercing the clouds and slamming into the ground. The noise is deafening, as though the entire world is tearing itself apart, and a great wind blows her hair back. The pillars burn for a few moments more, vaporizing flesh and liquefying armor, scouring the enemy force, before vanishing, leaving the plains echoing with the lingering roar. In the distance, she sees several of the towers collapsing in clouds of dust. A cheer rises from her army, and she unsheathes her blade, gleaming in the moonlight. With a roar of her own, she gives the order to charge._

_\---_

With a gasp, Byleth awoke, sweat beading on her skin. She was no stranger to bad dreams, but that one had felt different. For a moment she lay in her bed, staring at the dust motes dancing in the beams of moonlight shining in through her window. Eventually, she rose and began to get dressed. As she was pulling on her boots, Sothis manifested in the darkness just beyond the patch of moonlight on the carpet, her eyes gleaming in the darkness like a cat’s.   
  
“That dream troubled you, I see.”   
  
Byleth made a wordless noise of assent, and laced up her boots.   
  
Sothis huffed and folded her arms.   
  
“Well, aren’t you chatty tonight?”   
  
Byleth sighed and looked up at her.   
  
“So I assume you’d like to talk about the dream, then?”   
  
Sothis nodded. “If it sets your mind at ease, I am also unnerved, though how much of that is due to my being inextricably bound to you I am unsure. It felt…” Sothis trailed off, unable to capture the same feeling of unease with the dream that Byleth was also having trouble articulating.   
  
“Was that a memory of yours, or something? It felt more real than dreams are supposed to.”   
  
Sothis frowed even deeper, and rapped her forehead with her knuckles.

“I know I should be able to remember something like that, but it is as though a thick fog obscures my mind whenever I try. No, not a fog, that’s not really accurate.”  
  
“I’m not sure a metaphor needs to be acc-”   
  
“Let me finish!” Sothis snapped. Byleth rolled her eyes, but gestured for Sothis to continue.   
  
“It’s not so much a fog as...it’s like walking down a hallway, and you expect there to be a door at the end, but instead the hallway just...stops. My memories are behind the door, but the hallway doesn’t even seem to reach it. Does that make sense?”   
  
“Not really.”

  
“Oh, never mind,” Sothis grumbled. “Why are you getting dressed at this unholy hour?”   
  
Byleth shrugged.   
  
“I want to get some fresh air. Clear my head a bit. Tomorrow’s a free day, anyway, so I don’t have to be up that early.”   
  
“Well, you know where to find me.”   
  
With a quiet chuckle at her own joke, Sothis waved and vanished.   
  
As Byleth reached out to open her door, a faint knocking came from the other side. Eyes widening slightly in surprise, she opened it, coming face to face with Catherine.   
  
“Oh, didn’t expect you to be awake, Professor. Or dressed, for that matter,” said Catherine, eyeing Byleth’s outfit.   
  
“You knocked,” said Byleth.   
  
“Well, Shamir figured one of us should come tell you. We killed an assassin trying to break into Kronya’s cell. Rhea’s moving the trial up a bit to head off any further attacks. I-hey!”   
  
Without a word, Byleth shoved past Catherine, slamming her door shut behind her, and strode away in the direction of the dungeons.   
  
“Hey, you’re welcome!” shouted Catherine at Byleth’s back.   
  
She sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead.   
  
“Man, I told Shamir she should have been the one to tell her. But nooo, ‘rock paper scissors has the final say’, she said.” Grumbling, Catherine left and headed towards the barracks, and her waiting bed.   
  
  
\---

“Open the cell. I want to talk to her.”  
  
The guard took one look at Byleth, nodded, and opened the door, allowing Byleth to step in.   
  
“Don’t be too rough, we need her alive for the trial.”   
  
“I’ll keep that in mind.”   
  
Byleth waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, until she could make out Kronya sitting on the floor, her wrists and ankles shackled, dirty prisoners’ rags having replaced her armor. She stared at the floor, her hair hanging down over her face so that Byleth couldn’t see her at first. The silence stretched.   
  
“Here to gloat, huh?”   
  
Kronya’s voice had lost the shrill, mocking edge it held when Byleth had heard it last, now sounding dull and lifeless.   
  
In response, Byleth crossed the distance between them, grabbed Kronya’s collar, and dragged her to her feet, slamming her against the cell wall.

“You killed my father.”  
  
Byleth was surprised at how calm her voice sounded. Kronya looked up at her, and Byleth sucked in through her teeth seeing the ruined mess of her right eye.   
  
Kronya smiled thinly.   
  
“Oh, they decided I didn’t need two eyes to stand trial. Are you expecting me to say I’m sorry?”   
  
Byleth dug her thumb into the wound, and Kronya shrieked. After a long moment, Byleth stopped, allowing Kronya to collapse to the floor.   
  
Byleth looked down at her.   
  
“I should kill you right here.”   
  
“Go ahead, I won’t stop you.”   
  
“Huh, I seem to recall you begging for your life a few days ago. Change of heart?”   
  
“That was when I thought my life meant anything. Did you know they tried to kill me?”   
  
Byleth frowned.   
  
“Who’s they?”   
  
“My...employers. It doesn’t matter. They just tossed me aside,” she muttered. “Just some filthy half-breed trash, after all.” This last bit, nearly an inaudible whisper, made Byleth kneel down so that their eyes were level.   
  
“Half-breed?”   
  
Kronya looked up at Byleth.   
  
“Either kill me or get out. I’m very tired.”   
  
Byleth scowled.   
  
“I suppose there’s no point sticking around. You’ll be dead soon anyway, and then we’ll hunt down the Flame Emperor and all the rest of your friends.”   
  
“Oh, spare me. If you actually wanted to kill her you’d have done it already.” 

“Her?”  
  
Kronya looked up at Byleth, her remaining eye wide.   
  
“You...you don’t know?”   
  
“Know what??”   
  
Kronya stared for a moment and began wheezing, which in turn grew to a full throated cackle as she doubled over with mirth.   
  
“You don’t know! You don’t fucking know!! I can’t believe it!”   
  
Byleth hoisted her to her feet and slammed her against the wall.   
  
“I’m not in the mood for jokes, freak.”   
  
“Tell you what,” gasped Kronya, catching her breath, tears of joy rolling down her left cheek. “Come to my trial and I’ll spill everything.”   
  
“Spill _what?”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Come on, even YOU can’t be THAT stupid.”   
  
Kronya paused to catch her breath from her laughing fit, and cleared her throat.   
  
“I’m saying I’ll tell everybody who the Flame Emperor is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BlHIc-F0XR4


	7. Pale Green Things

Bernie set the jar of beetles down on the edge of the planter, and unscrewed the lid. Catching enough beetles to make this worthwhile had been a bit of an ordeal, but she felt it was time well spent. Reaching into the jar with a pair of tweezers, she removed a wriggling beetle and placed it gently between the leaves that formed the trap on the flytrap plant in front of her, which swiftly closed shut around the bug. This small planter was full of the plants, some of her favorites. Bernie hummed a tune she had picked up from Dorothea as she placed a beetle in each trap, continuing until the jar was empty. She heard the greenhouse doors open and immediately launched into a sort of combat roll to hide herself behind one of the larger shrubs, snatching the jar up as she did so. Peering through the shrubbery, she let out a sigh of relief upon seeing that it was only Dedue and Ashe. Though they didn’t hang out much, Bernie knew that they were both safe to be around, and in fact the three of them had built an easy, if often wordless, rapport when working in the greenhouse. She emerged from behind the bush and waved at them.

“Hello, you two!”

Dedue and Ashe waved back.

“Greetings, Bernadetta.”

“Hello, Bernie!”

Satisfied with the successful social interaction, Bernie returned to her beetles, listening in as Ashe and Dedue continued their conversation.

“Did you get a chance to read that cookbook I lent you, Dedue?”

“Oh, yes, thank you, Ashe. I look forward to trying some of those recipes out in the kitchen at some point. Would you like to help?”

Ashe’s ears turned slightly pink and he laughed nervously.

“Oh, I’d love to! I mean, that sounds fun! Yes!” 

Bernie giggled quietly and mentally filed away the basics of that exchange for future use in her writing. She knew budding romance when she heard it. Her flytraps all sated, she placed the empty beetle jar back in her bag and left the greenhouse, waving farewell to Ashe and Dedue as she did so. As the doors closed behind her, the familiar wave of apprehension that accompanied being outside of her room returned, though it had been lessened somewhat ever since she had left flowers for Professor Byleth’s father after his death. Her own father was a source of terror in her life, so she couldn’t imagine how it felt to lose an actually good father. Bernie supposed she didn’t know for sure if Jeralt was a good father on his own merits, but he certainly shone in comparison to hers. 

“Oh, Bernadetta! Hello!” 

Bernie cringed into herself at the sudden sound of Flayn’s voice. She had nothing against Flayn personally, but the girl could be overbearingly cheery at times, and her brother was almost more intimidating than Lady Rhea. Almost. She looked over to see Flayn hurrying over from the fishing pier, where Bernie had noticed she liked to spend her time when she wasn’t trying to be courted by various handsome boys. 

“H-hello, Flayn. Did you need something?”

Flayn skidded to a halt in front of Bernie.

“No, nothing in particular. I was simply saying hello. I rarely see you out and about, after all.”

Bernie fidgeted.

“Oh, well, um...thank you.”

Flayn leaned in, her voice lowering to a whisper.

“Also, MAYBE I heard that you and Hubert had been seen spending some time together, and was wondering-”

Bernie prayed for the goddess to strike her down then and there as she frantically waved her hands back and forth.

“Nothing! You saw nothing! I mean there was nothing!! Forget it!”

Flayn winked conspiratorially, which did not set Bernie at ease.

“Say no more, Bernadetta. I know how it is.”

She made a motion as though she was locking her lips and throwing away the key, and Bernie groaned. At that moment, she saw Alois and Professor Byleth rounding the corner, and she offered a prayer of thanks for her salvation.

“Alois!” she called out, waving to the knight, so reminiscent of her beloved uncle. With surprise, she saw Flayn’s face scrunch up into an expression of disgust.

“Well, I must be off, Bernadetta. Remember, your secret is safe with me! Farewell!” 

With that, Flayn scurried away, Bernie’s complaint that there was no secret to KEEP safe dying on her lips, as Alois and the professor walked over.

“Ah, Bernadetta! Good to see you enjoying the fresh air today.” 

Bernie smiled, Alois’s presence immediately putting her at ease. 

“Yes, I was doing some gardening in the greenhouse.”

“Well, what better place to put your green thumb to use?”

Alois guffawed at his own bad joke, and slapped Professor Byleth on the back, causing the woman to stagger forward a step.

“Ah, one day you’ll appreciate my wit, Professor.”

Byleth pulled her lips back from her teeth in what looked to Bernie like a poor approximation of a smile.

“Perhaps, Alois. You’re Bernadetta, correct?”

Bernie found herself pinned by Byleth’s gaze, which seemed to be dissecting her where she stood.

“Um, yes. Hello. I believe we’ve spoken a few times.”

“You left flowers on my father’s grave. I don’t believe I ever thanked you for that properly, so thank you.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It felt like the right thing to do.”

Byleth nodded, satisfied, and turned to Alois.

“You said there had been a development in Kronya’s situation.”

“Um, should I be here for this?” asked Bernie, which Byleth ignored. 

Alois looked askance at Bernie.

“Well, I don’t suppose it would hurt if you heard. But maybe don’t spread it around.” He beckoned for Byleth and Bernie to follow him, and the trio entered a small nook where they were hidden from view, a thick growth of ivy crawling down the walls. 

“Well, as you know, Catherine and Shamir thwarted an assassination attempt on the prisoner’s life.”

Byleth nodded as Bernie yelped at the thought of an assassin penetrating so deep into Garreg Mach.

“Well, in the interest of monastery security, and to forestall any future attempts at either killing her or springing her from her captivity, the Archbishop has decided to hold her trial at the end of the week!” 

“Yes, Catherine told me.”

Alois deflated a bit.

“Ah. Well, that’s egg on my face!”

Byleth shook her head.

“It’s fine. Bernadetta, we can trust you to not mention any of this to anyone, correct?”

Bernie, her mind racing with images of vials of poison and blades in the dark, nodded rapidly.

“I won’t tell a soul. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to my room and lock my door. Bye, Alois, Professor!”

Without waiting for a reply, she ran away.

Alois frowned.

“Oh dear, I’m afraid I gave her a scare.”

Byleth shrugged and headed off herself, and Alois found himself alone in the nook. Scoffing to himself at Byleth’s abrupt departure, he set off to the dining hall for a meal. 

Concealed behind the ivy, a rusted gate sat in the wall, leading to a stairwell which descended into the darkness, where the acoustics funneled any conversations held in the nook down to the waiting ears of the man sitting on a stool at the bottom. He finished transcribing what he had heard onto a sheaf of parchment and folded it up, sliding it into his satchel. 

Yuri would want to hear this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! After months of procrastination, I got a chapter out just under the wire! Last chapter of 2020, folks! See ya next year!
> 
> Flayn is referring to Bernie and Hubert’s B support, if you were curious! I can’t remember if that one unlocks before the timeskip, but it’s my story so I make the rules .  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBla7yCx9Yk


	8. Jagged Gorgeous Winter

Hilda shivered, even under all her layers. After a surprisingly balmy few days, winter had finally seemed to remember that Garreg Mach was there and returned with a vengeance, blanketing the campus in snow and ice.

“Clauuuuude, it’s COLD,” she had whined to him as she slumped into her seat in the Golden Deer classroom, voice muffled by her scarf, her pigtails emerging from underneath her fur cap. Claude, who had been resting his head on his folded arms on the desk, looked up at her.

“You know the braziers are all lit in the classroom, right Hil? You’ll start roasting if you keep all that on in here.”  
“I know THAT,” grumbled Hilda as she began to remove her various winter garments, revealing the uniform underneath, “I’m just complaining that it’s cold outside!”

“Believe me, I’m no fan of the cold myself.”

As he and Hilda continued to chat, she noticed that the room was indeed much warmer than outside, due to both the braziers and the body heat emitted by the rest of her class, which had already arrived, and was sitting in their usual spots. Lorenz sat in the back to keep an eye on Claude, which placed him next to Ignatz, who liked to sketch the room during breaks. Raphael had seated himself by the door so he could be the first in line for lunch, but Leonie, his usual neighbor, wasn’t there. Hilda looked around and found Leonie seated by Marianne, of all people! Hilda smiled. It was nice of Leonie to take pity on the poor girl. Nobles like Hilda could learn a lot from commoners, it seemed. Lysithea was seated right in front, and was currently taking advantage of the time before the professor arrived to surreptitiously munch on a cookie. Flayn, as usual, was seated by the warmest brazier, and with so many braziers burning, Hilda found herself growing positively toasty. She supposed that explained why Flayn, normally sent into some sort of torpor by the cold, was animatedly gesturing for Hilda to come over to sit by her. Hilda pointed this out to Claude, and he smirked.

“Oh, go on, Hil. I think I’ll survive if you go talk to Flayn.”

Sticking her tongue out at him, she stood and relocated next to their energetic new classmate.

“Morning, Flayn.”

“Hello, Hilda! I have a SECRET! But you must swear not to tell anyone! Not even Claude!”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “I swear.”

Obviously, she had no real intention of keeping this promise, if the gossip happened to be particularly juicy, but Flayn didn’t need to know that.

The smaller girl grinned and leaned in to whisper into Hilda’s ear.

“It seems that Hubert and Bernadetta may become an item in the future!”

Hilda racked her brain for a moment before recalling that Hubert was the ghoulish right hand man of Edelgard, and that Bernadetta was…

“Bernadetta’s the little shut-in in the Black Eagles house, right?”

“That’s the one! It’s a bit rude to call her a shut-in, though, I hear she has some personal issues.”

“Oh, I meant no offense,” said Hilda breezily, “just that she stays cooped up in her room all day, from what I hear. I’m sure she’s perfectly nice once you get to know her.”

“She is! But more importantly, it seems SHE and HUBERT are going to become an ITEM!” said Flayn, her whispering approaching her normal speaking volume.

Hilda blinked. Turns out this gossip was totally dull after all. Oh well. “That’s very interesting, Flayn! And don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Now, I should get back to my seat before the professor arrives.”

Flayn nodded. “Of course! I simply had to tell somebody, it was too juicy not to share. Can you imagine kissing HUBERT of all people? Yuck!”

Hilda laughed. “Believe me, I’m right there with you.” With a casual wave, she headed back to Claude.

“Anything interesting?”

“Nah,” said Hilda dismissively. “She just got overexcited about some schoolyard gossip again.”

Claude made a wordless noise of acknowledgement, right as the classroom doors open, bringing a rush of cold air as Professor Byleth strode in.

Hilda didn’t know how their teacher didn’t feel the cold, especially in that outfit, but no matter the weather she had never been seen in anything else. Maybe she was one of those people who had multiple copies of the same outfit? The door closed with a heavy thud as Byleth reached the front of the classroom and began to write on the chalkboard.

“Today, as you may have surmised from the weather, we will be discussing cold weather and snowy terrain tactics. Ignatz, read page 145. You may skip the sidebar.”

As the lesson dragged on, Hilda felt her already tenuous focus slipping, not aided by the warmth of the room making her sleepy. She supposed that, here in the back row with Claude, she could rest her eyes for just a moment…

She was woken from an all too brief slumber by something slamming into the desk right next to her face. She yelped and jerked awake, Byleth staring down impassively at her.

“Since you clearly already have this lesson memorized to the extent you can sleep in my class, you should go stretch your legs a bit. Go to the Knight’s Hall and see if Shamir still has that treatise on military operations in Dagda.”

“But it’s so cold and icy outside professor! What if I slip and hurt myself?”

Lorenz’s hand shot up. “I would be more than willing to escort Hilda.”

“No, Lorenz. Raphael, you’re up. Don’t think I didn’t see you nodding off back there either.” Raphael, in reply, grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head.

“Sorry about that, Professor.”

“Watch your step out there, you two. As Hilda said, it’s slippery.”

Grumbling, Hilda put on her various layers once again, ignoring Claude’s muffled snickers. Raphael held the door, and Hilda trudged out into the cold once more, hands shoved into her pockets.

As the door closed behind them, Hilda turned to Raphael.

“Honestly, Raphael, I’m glad it’s you and not Lorenz.”

Raphael shrugged, his heavy woolen coat and ushanka making him look like a bear. “Eh, Lorenz is a bit stuffy, sure, but he’s not so bad.”

“Well, I hardly think he’s ever pestered YOU about taking his hand in marriage.”

Raphael laughed, startling a flock of birds from a nearby tree.

“You’ve got me there!” As he said this, Hilda felt her feet begin to slide on a patch of ice she hadn’t seen, but Raphael reached out and steadied her immediately with one hand.

“Oh my! Thank you, Raphael. No doubt that would have sent Lorenz and I on quite the tumble!”

“Heh, good for both of you the professor caught me napping, huh?”

“I suppose so!”

For the next few minutes, the duo carefully made their way across the monastery grounds, nearly slipping on the ice several more times. Eventually they arrived safely at the Knight’s Hall, by which point Hilda’s teeth were chattering, and Raphael hurriedly opened the door. Hilda sighed with relief as a wave of warmth washed over them both, melting the snowflakes clinging to her and Raphael. They stood for a second basking in it.

“Close the door, you’re letting out the heat.”

Raphael started and pushed the door closed behind them. “Oh! Sure thing, Cyril. Sorry ‘bout that!”

The young Almyran boy nodded once and resumed sweeping. “And be sure to wipe your feet on the door mat, I don’t need you guys tracking any snow in here.”

“Well aren’t you a busy little bee, Cyril! You know, I-”

“No time to talk, Hilda. Got lots to do.”

He continued sweeping, and Hilda frowned.

“Well, in that case, can you tell us if Shamir’s in? Got a request from Professor Byleth for her.”

“I’m right here, actually,” said Shamir, approaching, casually ruffling Cyril’s hair as she passed by. “What does the professor need?”

“She asked us to ask you if you still had a, uh...treatise on...help me out here, Hilda?”

Hilda sighed.

“The professor would like to know if we can borrow that treatise on military operations in Dagda.”

Shamir nodded.

“Sure thing. I’ll go grab it.”

Without another word she strode off, leaving Hilda and Raphael standing in the doorway.

“Just have a seat on that bench over there,” said Cyril. “You’re blocking the exit.”

Murmuring apologies, Raphael and Hilda sat down on the bench, making sure to wipe their boots on the mat as Cyril had requested. After he finished sweeping, Cyril walked off, presumably to attend to some other chore. Hilda yawned theatrically and leaned backward, resting against the wall behind the bench.

“Boy, Raphael, that walk sure tuckered me out!”

Raphael laughed.

“I’m not gonna carry you back, Hilda.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask you to,” Hilda lied, pouting a little. The two settled back into silence, people watching as the various knights and monastery staff went about their business. There was Catherine, effortlessly disarming three sparring partners simultaneously, and over there was a knight Hilda didn’t recognize, an older man with graying red hair, sharpening an axe almost as big as Freikugel, House Goneril’s relic weapon.

“You wouldn’t happen to know who that knight with the axe over there is, would you?” Hilda asked.

Raphael squinted.

“I think he might be from Faerghus? I saw him talking to Prince Dimitri once, and he bowed as he left. Why do you ask?”

Hilda shrugged.

“I’m just curious.”

“That’d be Gilbert,” said Shamir, causing Hilda to shriek, startled.

“Shamir! When did you arrive?”

“Oh, just as you were asking about him. Here’s the treatise you wanted.” She pressed a book into Hilda’s hands.

“Thank you, Shamir. But goodness, you’re sneaky!”

“I try. And you were right, Raphael, Gilbert is from Faerghus. But he doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

Hilda cocked her head.

“Do you know why?”

Shamir shook her head.

“As I said, he doesn’t like to talk about it. Anyway, I should get back to my work. We’re beefing up monastery security in preparation for the trial this weekend, and Seteth asked me to help draft new guard rotations.” With a wave, she headed off to talk to Catherine.

Hilda and Raphael stood and left the warmth of the Knight’s Hall, Hilda letting out a muttered curse as the cold wind cut at her face.

“Man,” said Raphael, “I’m nervous about this trial thing.”

“Why’s that?” asked Hilda, picking her way gingerly across a patch of ice.

“I dunno, I just have a bad feeling about it. I don’t like that the Archbishop’s gonna be making it a whole public spectacle. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“I mean, you remember after the professor’s father was killed, right? She was MISERABLE the entire following month, so I think I can live with Captain Jeralt’s murderer getting a few rotten tomatoes thrown at her from the viewing gallery, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess,” muttered Raphael, reaching out to stop Hilda from slipping. “Just feels weird to me, is all. I don’t have much of an appetite for revenge, I guess.”

“Ironic, given your seemingly bottomless appetite at mealtime!”

Raphael laughed.

“You got me there, Hilda!”

They made their way back to the classroom, Hilda fretting about the damage the cold was doing to her skin the entire time, and entered the classroom in the middle of Byleth delivering a lecture.

“-leaving their left flank vulnerable to...Ignatz? We haven’t had an answer from you yet.”

“Oh, um...a charge from the reserve cavalry?”

“Correct.” Byleth looked up from her notebook open in her hands at Hilda and Raphael entering.

“You’re back. Did Shamir have it?”

Hilda walked up to the front of the room and handed Byleth the treatise. Byleth took it, nodded once, and gestured that she and Raphael could return to their seats. Claude looked over as Hilda sat down and removed her outer layers once more.

“How’re things in the Knight’s Hall, Hil?”

Hilda waved a hand dismissively.

“Oh, you know. Smelled like sword oil and armor polish, Catherine was there showing off, Shamir was there being Shamir, same old same old. They’re beefing up security for the trial this weekend though, so it was a bit busier than normal.”

Claude arched an eyebrow.

“Interesting.”

“Hilda, are you and Claude volunteering for more errands, or would you like to quiet down and pay attention?”

“Eep! Sorry, Professor!”

“Our lips are sealed, Teach.”

\---

Back at the Knight’s Hall, Gilbert finished his weapon maintenance and carefully hung his axe back on the rack, offering a brief prayer to the Goddess as he did so. Ever since his failure to protect King Lambert, he had incorporated prayers into most of his daily rituals. Whether or not the Goddess cared was another matter, but Gilbert’s faith was strong. As he finished, Catherine approached him and let out an appreciative whistle at the gleam of his axe.

“That axe is looking sharp, Gilbert! You take good care of your weapon!”

“Thank you, Catherine. I take it you have satisfactorily humbled those knights who challenged you?”

Catherine laughed. “Ha, well, they were the ones who insisted on sparring with me. I even gave them a three on one advantage! Though, honestly, I could have easily taken twice that.”

“I do not doubt it. I recall once a gang of bandits surrendered at the mere mention of your epithet.”

“Well, Thunder Catherine has quite the ring to it, after all. Anyway, I should get going, Shamir wants my help with the security planning for the trial. I can hardly wait to see that freak brought to justice, personally.”

“Captain Jeralt and I may not have spoken much, but I could tell he was a good man, and a fine warrior. We are poorer for having lost him. The girl shall be punished for his murder, as well as her heresy.”

Catherine blinked. “Heresy?”

“I was present at her interrogation, you know. She spoke such vile blasphemies against the Goddess that, had she not been required to testify at trial, I would have torn out her tongue.”

Looking uncomfortable, Catherine nodded and departed. Gilbert, his equipment satisfactorily maintained for the moment, removed a hunk of wood from his pack and began to whittle it with his knife. Perhaps an effigy of Saint Cethleann, this time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't Gilbert a charmer?
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yuG_jxi37RM


	9. Damn These Vampirs

The rattling of the locks on the cell door jolted her from a fitful sleep, and the usual fear of yet another beating returned, followed by rage that they had reduced her to this state. She scooted away from the door until her back touched the wall, her hands bound in front of her as usual. The door swung open, revealing two of her usual guards, one with a splotchy red birthmark on the side of his face, and the other with a broken nose that had healed crooked. Kronya had never seen the man behind them, however. 

An older man with grey hair and a ridiculous mustache and goatee stood behind the guards, squinting into the darkness of her cell, one eye magnified behind an absurd monocle. Kronya could tell by both his attire and his demeanor that he wasn’t a guard. She was pretty sure he wasn’t a priest, either. If he wasn’t here for a beating, or for another damned sermon, then what…

“What do you want,” she croaked. Birthmark stepped forward to strike her, but the visitor raised a hand.

“There’s no need for violence. Sothis knows you’ve done plenty already.”

Kronya blinked, unsure what to make of this intercession on her behalf. The man knelt in front of her and offered her a sip from his canteen. After a moment, she took a gulp of water, and he spoke.

“My name is Hanneman, and I’m a professor here at the academy. May I ask your name?”

Kronya stared at him sullenly, then repeated her initial question.

“What. Do. You. Want.” 

Hanneman cleared his throat.

“Well, there’s no delicate way to ask this, so I shall simply be direct: I would like to take a sample of your blood.”

Silence hung in the cell for a moment.

“You fucking WHAT??”

“You came to us disguised as a former student, Monica von Ochs. I would like to study your blood to see if there are any clues within as to how you achieved this feat. As your trial is in a few hours, this is my last opportunity to ask.”

So that was it. They couldn’t even wait until she was dead to take her apart and see how she worked. She found the rage boiling up once more.

“Why even ask? Why not just wait till they nail me above the entrance of your cathedral to die, and collect some of my blood as it drips down? For that matter, why not have the guards beat some out of me?”

Hanneman recoiled as if struck.

“I would never-however brutal the guards may be,” he began, glaring at the two behind him, “I have very little taste for violence. This is a personal interest of mine, not an order from the Archbishop. I am under no obligation to obtain a sample of your blood by any means, and should you wish it I will leave you in peace, with my solemn vow to leave your corpse unsullied. I felt it only proper to ask.”

Kronya thought for a moment, then a flash of inspiration struck. 

“Ok, fine. Take my blood.” She thrust out her arms at him, and waited expectantly. 

Hanneman blinked in surprise, then cautiously approached. When he was sure it wasn’t a trick, he removed a syringe from his doctor’s bag, and extracted a measure of blood, before placing the syringe back within the bag. He stood to leave.

“I thank you for your cooperation, which I must admit was unexpected.”

“Whatever.”

“Well, I must take my leave.” He turned to face the door.

“Kronya.”

“What was that?” he asked, turning back around.

“My name is Kronya. And I don’t mind if you dissect me after I die.”

He nodded, though his face showed his discomfort. 

“Thank you. And farewell, Kronya. May whatever world awaits you after your death be more kind than this one.”

With that, he and the guards departed, the door locking behind them. Kronya stared at the door, before a grin spread across her face.   
Cast her aside, try to kill her, and then send assassins when the initial attempt failed, would they? Kronya would make them regret it. If she was gonna die, she was gonna spill as many secrets of Agartha as she could in the process.

\---

Linhardt yawned as he sat down, and Caspar elbowed him in the ribs.

“Seriously, dude? You went to bed at like six last night! How can you possibly still be tired!?”

“Caspar, not all of us can be as high energy as you are.”

“Yeah, I know THAT, but if you were any more LOW energy we’d have to start watering you!”

“Why would we be having to do that, Caspar?” Petra blinked curiously.

“Oh, Caspar is implying that if I was any more sedentary I would have more in common with a houseplant than a person, Petra.”

“I see. Is it also a joke about your hair being green?”

Caspar snorted.

“I didn’t mean it to be, but that’s funny too, Petra!”

Petra nodded and returned to studying the crowd of students gathered in the cathedral. It was the morning of the trial at last, and the air was charged with a nervous energy. The upper balcony was crowded with villagers from the town below the monastery, while the pews below were dedicated to residents of the monastery proper. The students had been separated by class, with the monastery faculty and staff in their own section. Petra noticed that Professor Hanneman was absent, though that was likely due to one of his experiments. At that moment, the doors of the cathedral opened, and the Archbishop’s procession entered. Petra could still hardly tell one priest from another, but she understood that some of the priests in the procession had differing roles, based on differences in their uniforms and the items they carried. At the rear of the procession was the Archbishop herself, her face serene, closely tailed by Seteth.

Everyone in the pews kneeled on the narrow cushioned platforms that Petra was amused to have learned, when she asked, were called “kneelers”. Petra was not terribly familiar with all the rituals of the Church of Seiros, so she tended to simply follow everyone’s lead. She noticed Hubert rolling his eyes as he knelt, which made her smile. He was her least favorite classmate, but she had learned that he also found the various rituals of the church to be somewhat unnecessary. Petra supposed that, in this case, it was to show deference to the Archbishop, who had, along with the rest of her retinue, arrived at the front of the church, stationing herself behind the pulpit.

“Please be seated.”

The crowd did so, Petra relieved to be sitting again. Kneeling always felt unnatural to her. As the Archbishop began speaking, Petra looked around at the crowd, an activity she found far more interesting than listening to the sermon. Edelgard was chewing her thumbnail, a sure sign that something was bothering her, but Petra didn’t know what, and did not feel like prying. Being the imperial princess as well as their house leader was no doubt stressful. Looking over to the Lions, Petra found her gaze drawn to Ashe, who looked, as he often did lately, quite sad. She had heard about what happened to Lonato, and knew firsthand what losing a father felt like. As she watched, Dimitri reached over to pat him gently on the back. It made her smile to see that he had classmates who cared for him. Lastly, she looked over to the Deer, where Professor Byleth sat, her expression as inscrutable as ever. Claude was in whispered conversation with Hilda, while in the row behind them Marianne had her head bowed in prayer. To Petra’s surprise, as Marianne finished her prayer, she reached over and squeezed Leonie’s hand, who squeezed back. Leonie stared ahead, no doubt eager to see Captain Jeralt’s killer brought to justice. 

As if in response to Petra’s thoughts, Lady Rhea brought the sermon to a close. 

“Bring in the prisoner.”

The assembled crowd turned to look as the doors to the cathedral were pushed open once again, a group of knights escorting the prisoner in. Kronya shuffled in, a far cry from the flamboyant assassin who they had captured at the end of the last month. Her armor had been taken and replaced with filthy prisoner’s rags, and a set of shackles had been clamped around her wrists, forcing her arms to straighten out awkwardly in front of her. Her hair, a similar shade of orange to Ferdinand’s, hung in greasy strands in front of her face, obscuring her eyes. The crowd, especially the portions up in the balcony, began jeering at her, some of them throwing refuse. A rotten tomato struck her on the side of the head, bursting open and making her stagger to the side. One of the knights yanked her back on course, and shoved her forward. Eventually, as they reached the pulpit, Kronya was forced to kneel before Rhea, who stared down coldly. 

“Seteth, the charges.”

Seteth cleared his throat and began reading from a sheaf of parchment, his voice carrying to the back of the cathedral.

“You, Kronya, stand accused of heresy against the Church of Seiros, in addition to the murder of Captain Jeralt Eisner.”

Kronya spat on the floor, and one of the knights smacked the back of her head, hard enough to make Petra wince.

Rhea nodded at Seteth and stepped forward to address the crowd.

“By the authority vested in me by the Goddess, I sentence you to death.”

Petra started and turned to Caspar.

“Is this not a trial? The Archbishop is already deciding the...penalty?”

Caspar nodded, frowning.

“The word you’re looking for is ‘sentence’, and yeah, it seems like she has. I’m surprised, too.”

On Caspar’s other side, Linhardt yawned.

“Come now, Caspar, you can’t have expected this to be anything more than a formality. That woman killed Captain Jeralt, and Lady Rhea was quite fond of him, it seems. Ask the graves in the Western Church territory how she handles those who cross her.”

“Astutely put, Linhardt,” muttered Hubert, darkly. Next to him, Bernie withdrew further into her hood, which Petra had not thought possible.

“Ohh, I knew I should have stayed in my room today. I don’t like this.”

Dorothea patted her shoulder. 

“I could escort you back to your room if you’d like, Bernie.”

“N-no thank you, I’m already out here anyway.”

The crowd’s jeering resumed, rising to a fever pitch before the Archbishop raised her hands for silence. After the crowd quieted down, she continued to speak.

“Have you anything to say in your defense? Know that it shall not alter your fate.”

Kronya looked up at her and grinned.

“I bet you’re wondering who the Flame Emperor really is.”

Petra noticed Edelgard and Hubert stiffen.

“Edelgard? Are you alright?” Ferdinand asked.

“I’m fine, Ferdinand. It’s nothing,” came her terse reply.

Rhea blinked, an uncharacteristic look of surprise crossing her face. Seteth scoffed.

“The Flame Emperor? You claim to know the identity of that terrorist?”

Kronya nodded.

“I sure do. In fact, she’s probably in this room right now.”

“She? You claim the Flame Emperor is a woman?” the Archbishop asked.

Kronya laughed, a dry, throaty chuckle.

“You really have no idea, do you?” She staggered to her feet, and turned to face the assembled crowd, raising her arms and pointing towards the Black Eagles section.

“She’s sitting right there. The Flame Emperor is none other than Edelgard von Hresvelg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter and the next were a single chapter, but I felt that the pacing was kind of all over the place as a result, so I'm splitting them in two. The plus side is that a big chunk of chapter 10 is already done, so I should be posting that sooner than later! Look forward to it! 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2P3lF47ml8


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